


across an ocean of stars

by raspberrybeanie



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kingdom Hearts Fusion, Gen, Keyblade Hero Christine Canigula, Other, canon compliant with KH3 (no really), jeremy is his trio's Designated Foolish Darkness Boi(tm) but we all knew that already, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrybeanie/pseuds/raspberrybeanie
Summary: All Christine Canigula wants for the summer semester of her junior year is to audition for the play, where the script will tell her what comes next and she doesn't have to think about the looming prospect of not knowing what's going to happen with her life in a year's time. And maybe she and her partner in theatre Jeremy will never succeed in getting their other best friend Michael into the rehearsal room with them, but that's okay, as long as it's still the three of them.Unfortunately, fate has other plans in store for Christine, and the day after she has a dream about fighting creatures of shadow with a giant key is the day that a massive storm drags her home world of Garden Shores into the Darkness. Waking up a long way from home and with both her best friends missing, Christine sets out with her Keyblade in hand to voyage across the worlds to find them.( or: the Meremine KH AU that nobody asked for, but I'm writing it anyway. )





	across an ocean of stars

Everything starts on the day that Michael decides he has his heart set on winning this one specific prize from the claw machine near the boardwalk.

"Oh, come _on!_ "

The spindly metal noodle arms of the claw jerk open. Again. Christine watches as the plastic prize capsule tumbles out of its grasp and back down into the jumble of prize pods at the bottom. Again. She's lost count of how many times it's been by now, because she keeps getting distracted by the lights of the other arcade games around her, or thinking about how many prizes are actually sitting in the bottom of that glass case, or how many people have actually managed to get the prize they were after. She guesses probably not a lot. Maybe just enough for it not to look totally unfair.

Michael's been in front of the machine for nearly ten minutes by now, for reasons Christine hasn't managed to get out of him yet, and he doesn't show any sign of walking away. He just scowls, puffing his cheeks out a bit in a way that makes Christine think of her old pet hamster, and digs around inside his hoodie pocket.

"Dude, again?"

Jeremy is hovering just behind Christine's shoulder with the second and only other front row seat to the man vs claw action, and he sounds like he can't decide whether he wants to throw either the machine or himself in the ocean.

"This is like, the seventh time already. Maybe we should call it quits."

Oh, good, Jeremy was keeping count for them.

"I almost had it that time! This one's for sure, I can feel it. I've finally got the pattern down now." 

Michael finally finds the munny he was looking for, turning it over and over in his fingers as he sizes up his shiny, brightly coloured machine nemesis. One by one, the little golden-yellow not-quite-orbs vanish into the munny slot's gaping maw.

Christine cranes her neck to try and get a better look at the prize capsule Michael's been going for. She can't really tell what's inside - something yellow inside some kind of plastic wrap - but it looks pretty small compared to some of the other prizes on offer. 

"What is it that you want to win so badly?" Maybe Christine can't see what it is, but he must really, really want it. It's not like Michael to stand there for ages feeding more and more munny into something he would've known from the start is designed to be a scam.

"Obviously that's a secret till I win it! It's gonna be awesome, I promise." 

The machine lights up, the claw jerking to life, and Michael pushes his glasses further up his face before he leans in close with all the focus of a professional. Are there professional claw machine wranglers? Christine's pretty sure there has to be, somewhere out there. "Okay, here we go. Come on, come on…"

It's hard not to be drawn into the moment as the crane is lowered back down into the prize pit. Christine holds her breath, and leans as close as she dares; she can feel Jeremy leaning in too, in perfect sync behind her. 

The claw closes around Michael's prize, snugly fitting around the sphere like a cold, robotic metal hug.

"You got it!" Christine cheers as the claw starts rising again, but Michael is too busy counting under his breath as he starts guiding his erstwhile winnings back toward the prize slot.

"Wait for iiiiiiit," he says, drawing out the last word. Christine has a split second to wonder what it is she's waiting for, before the prize pod rattles. The claw arms open wider for just long enough for the pod to roll back out if it's in the wrong place--

\--But Michael's ready for it, suddenly jerking the joystick under his right hand so quickly that Jeremy jumps. Christine doesn't catch what direction or direc _tions_ he yanked it in, but the claw swings over the prize slot, fast enough and sudden enough that when the prize pod slips, it tumbles in an arc and lands with a dull thud.

"Yes!!" Michael throws his arms in the air, grinning from ear to ear as he starts up some kind of impromptu victory dance. "Told you I had it this time!"

"You did it!" Christine jumps up and down, swept up by Michael's enthusiasm. "I have no idea _how_ you did it, but that was amazing!"

"That was really cool, actually," Jeremy says. When Christine turns to look at him, he has that big smile on his face that she likes most on him; the one he gets when he's enjoying himself too much to have any energy spare for worrying about anything. Something she's noticed about Jeremy over the years: he worries about things, a lot of things, a _lot._ "How _did_ you do that?"

"I told you, I was getting the pattern down." Michael bounces on the balls of his feet one more time. "After that it was just physics. Y'know, and a bit of dumb luck." He squats down suddenly, reaching one arm into the prize slot, before springing back to his feet. "Anyway," he says gleefully, twisting the two plastic hemispheres apart with both hands, "Time to enjoy our hard-earned prize." 

"Wait, ours?" Jeremy says, at the same time Christine says, "Don't leave us in suspense a second longer, Michael!"

They watch together as he rips open the plastic wrap on the yellow something she glimpsed earlier, screwing it up into his pocket before he dangles something in front of them both with all the air of a triumphant showman.

Christine leans in close, squinting at the something. Three irregularly-shaped somethings, now that she can get a good look at them. Each one has two points, with a sort of zig-zag line of edges making a right angle between them. Shiny plastic in bright yellow, with deep green, shiny plastic teardrop-shapes arcing off of one of the points on each one.

"They're… keychains?" Jeremy glances Christine's way like he's hoping she'll be able to shed light on Michael's latest eccentricity.

" _Friendship_ keychains!" Michael beams. "Do you know how hard it is to get one of these things that comes in three pieces?"

Christine's mind flashes back, in perfect HD vision, to every single accessory shop in every mall she's ever stepped foot into, and the rows upon rows of cheap, cheerful two-person BFF charms in their cheap, cheerful, complementary-colour-schemed jigsaw arrangements. They never had theatre-themed ones, either, which always struck Christine as a really, really bad oversight, because the comedy and tragedy masks were just _begging_ to be a paired set to proclaim your friendship with someone. But even then--

"Ohhhh yeah! They always come in twos."

"They _always_ come in twos!" Michael echoes, throwing an arm in her direction in agreement. "And that's not even the most awesome thing!" 

He flips his hand over and lays the pieces out on his palm, fitting their jagged edges together to create the sum of their parts. Christine and Jeremy lean closer in tandem, looming over the completed plastic miniature. It looks like a star, or she's pretty sure it's a star. Or a star-shaped something, anyway. Christine can't really figure out what the green things are if it's a star, but they seem like they must mean something.

Michael looks at them expectantly. "See?"

"I see a star, dude."

"A star?" Michael laughs for a second, before his face veers off into the land of incredulity. "No, c'mon, you seriously don't know what this is? Christine? You guys never heard this one?"

Christine thinks for a moment about all the significant star-related things she's ever come across. Stars being the light of other worlds doesn't sound right, and neither does stars being the spirits of long-dead people gazing down at everyone else. Glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling, the black starcloth they drag out of storage when it's time to dress the stage for tech week, that one yellow star-shaped patch on the front of Michael's favourite hoodie, slices of cut star fruit sitting on the worktop in the kitchen while her dad fills the air with smells of stir-fried ginger and a pot simmers away on the stove.

Well, looking at it again, Michael's mystery friendship keychain does look kind of fruit-adjacent, but Christine's pretty sure it's not star fruit. She meets Michael's eyes, and shrugs.

"Sorry, Michael, I think you lost us both."

"What? _How_ has nobody told you about this?" Michael gapes at them both, before launching right back into it. "Oh man, I have to fix this, right now. So you know how there's that old story about how the world used to be one big thing all joined together, and then something happened that made it split into all these smaller, tiny worlds that're separate from each other, right?"

Christine watches intently as Michael's free hand gestures around to mime this process, a closed fist suddenly splaying out and through the air by the side of his head. It's a good visual. Very visceral. "So I read somewhere once that on one of those worlds out there, there's this star-shaped fruit called a paopu. Or something like that, I dunno," he shrugs. "But the story goes that if you split one with somebody - or somebodies! - you guys're forever entwined together by fate. So--"

Michael finally pauses for breath, and suddenly becomes incredibly interested in the claw machine next to them again for some reason. "I dunno, I saw it through the glass and got excited."

"Uh," Jeremy says. There's a note in his voice that Christine associates with the first play rehearsal of the semester, and sure enough, when she looks up at him, his face is steadily turning the same shade of red as Michael's hoodie. "Wow, Michael."

Michael shrugs, still studying the remaining prizes behind the glass with a slightly glazed look. "I was just thinking, they keep going on and on about college, right? And sure it's still a while away, but this fall we're seniors, and then…" He trails off, and then takes a breath, and looks back at them both. Like only they are the centre of attention. "I just want you guys to stay in my life, is all. And it's not like we're ever gonna see a real paopu fruit in Garden Shores, so. This is the next best thing."

Christine blinks, feeling a very real warmth in her heart and a very real lump in her throat as she stares at the star-shaped fruit jigsaw still lying in Michael's hand. This is really one of the most Michael things she can think of.

It's also one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for her, cheap plastic and all. There's a part of her that just wants to wrap both of her friends up in a big hug, right now.

So she does.

"I _love_ it," she gushes as she throws one arm around Jeremy's waist and drags them both forwards so she can throw her other arm around Michael. Jeremy makes a high-pitched squeak as she catches him; Michael stumbles back a step with an "oof" before he wraps an arm around each of them with a low laugh. "I'm putting it on the zipper pull of my jacket, and it's never coming off, ever."

"For real?"

"Yes for real! I love how bright it is, and it'll make grabbing the zipper so much easier, and when you really start to think about all the meaning behind it that I'm gonna think about every time I do my jacket up, after I think about you guys - and that just makes me think, why _isn't_ that a thing I've heard about before now--" 

From where he's effectively trapped between the two of them by the circle of their arms, Jeremy lets out a noise that Christine's pretty sure is a laugh. Not _at_ her, though. It's too fond of a sound for that. _Because_ of her, maybe? That's a better thought. 

"Geez, you guys. It's never _not_ gonna be the three of us."

It's maybe in the top five moments of the most confident Jeremy's ever sounded, so Christine grins and squeezes both boys a little tighter in their hug.

"So," Michael says, a sly note in his voice, "We're still your favourite people?"

"Ugh. _Yes,_ asshole." Jeremy's rolling his eyes. Christine can't actually see his face to check, but she knows that tone. "Both of you, now and always."

Now and always. It's a nice thought, and it's a thought Christine likes, just like how she likes the thought that was behind Michael standing at that claw machine feeding more and more munny into it until he got it to give up the exact plastic tourist crap he wanted that wasn't just plastic tourist crap. But it also makes her think about why they're doing and saying things like this, and all the changes that are still coming up in their future, unscripted and marked with giant, 100-point font question marks. And that thought… that one's not so nice.

I want you both to stay in my life, too, Christine thinks, and gives them another squeeze before she lets go.

She draws herself up, projects, puts on her best French accent. "All for one, and one for all," she declares, before dropping the accent with a smile. "Right? You'll always be my Porthos and Aramis."

Jeremy throws her a nervous glance. "Wait, which one am I?"

"Does it matter?" Michael says. Christine guesses that the works of Alexandre Dumas didn't make it onto the list of topics that he's spent a solid week reading about obsessively yet. "I get what you're saying, Christine. Thanks."

He holds out a keychain in each hand. "Now c'mon, I didn't completely own this machine's crummy munny-grubbing programming for nothin', y'know."

Christine takes her third, and true to her word, spirals it straight onto her zipper pull. It looks like it's always belonged there.

~✩~

It really is the perfect late spring evening.

None of them feel like calling it a night just yet, trying to stave off the inevitable Monday morning just a little longer. So the three of them hop back into Michael's car for a quick detour past the closest convenience store before driving on up the coast, towards a spot a little further north that's become theirs. It's ideal, both because it doesn't see too many people at this hour, and also because there isn't much chance of anyone being around to see Michael's illegal parking manoeuvres. 

There's a slight chill in the air as the three of them stumble down the bank, but the last rays of the sun are warming their backs. They're facing the wrong way for there to be any chance of watching a sunset, but as they settle down in a spot where they can gaze out over the ocean, Christine can see that the last light has turned the undersides of the clouds a deep, golden orange. It almost looks like they've been lit up from the inside all by themselves, like some kind of cloud lamp - like the fluffy DIY ones she's seen on Mogtube. She kinda likes it better than the sunset, in a way.

The three of them sprawl out about half way down the bank and spread out their probably-really-bad-for-them convenience store haul between them, splitting their attention equally between the food and the conversation. At some point Michael and Jeremy get stuck on arguing some obscure bit of video game lore that Christine doesn't get, so her attention wanders for a bit, and catches on some screaming gulls down on the sand, fighting over the sad remains of someone's lunch. The fading sunlight turns the clouds from glowing orange to blushing red to a deep, warm pink, and it's only when a stray potato chip lands in her lap that she realises the debate somehow turned into a "who can catch more potato chips in their mouth" contest while she was zoning out.

A contest that Christine wins, once she joins in. Michael looks a little put out for a second when he calls it, before he shrugs and hails her as the potato chip queen, but Jeremy shoots her an impressed, lop-sided grin.

By the time the food is consumed - or crushed into a million tiny pieces on the ground from where someone missed a catch - the light around them has dwindled into that watery evening twilight that comes just before the sun has completely set. Michael lets out a long, loud sigh and flops backwards, limbs spread out like a starfish.

"I'm totally wiped out. Can't we just stay here all night?"

"Nooooo way," Christine says immediately. Michael's just joking - probably - but it doesn't hurt to remind him of his responsibilities. She leans across Jeremy to give Michael a poke in the side, grinning when he twitches and tries unsuccessfully to swat her hand away. "You're our ride home, remember? The designated driver doesn't get to tap out that easy!"

Michael lets out an exaggerated grumble. "Not even after presenting you both with a token of my undying affection?" he says, batting his eyelids at her behind his glasses. Michael's prescription is so high that his lenses make his eyes look twice their actual size, so Christine has to admit that it's more effective than it should be.

Jeremy erupts into a series of snorting giggles between them, both hands hovering a few inches in front of his face like he's not sure if he should cover them up or not.

Christine draws herself up, channelling her inner royalty. " _We_ ," she declares, as imperiously as she can muster, "are not that easily bought! I have a curfew, Michael."

"We could just smuggle you back in and pretend you were there the whole time," Michael suggests, not beaten yet. "I mean, with your acting skills? It'd be the perfect crime."

As nice as it is to have her acting complimented like that - even more so because it's Michael, which means he means it - Christine is not about to let herself be swayed by flattery now.

"Sign-ups for the summer play go up next week, I can't afford to get myself grounded now. And neither can Jeremy!" she adds after a moment. 

It had taken her literally the whole of their freshman year, plus summer vacation, to convince Jeremy to actually sign up for the fall play once sophomore year rolled round, despite the fact that she'd known he liked theatre too for years, _and_ she's pretty sure the only reason it actually happened was because Michael literally stood behind him and shoved him toward the sign-up sheet at the time. The point is, it took forever, and she's not about to let all that hard work go to waste, and Jeremy is actually _good_ at acting, anyway, way better than he gives himself credit for. It's nice to play opposite someone who cares about it as much as she does, and doesn't roll their eyes at her because they think she's not paying attention when she wants to go over lines outside of play rehearsal time.

"Okay, okay." Michael throws both hands up in defeat. "I concede. The things I do for you theatre kids."

"I mean," Jeremy says, pulling up handfuls of grass absent-mindedly, "My dad probably wouldn't even notice if I came home after my curfew, so. You could probably smuggle me back in if you wanted."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Jeremy stiffens. Michael, still a human starfish, catches Christine's eye behind his back with a look that she can't really read.

"… How is he?" Michael says softly after a moment, the words slow and measured as he gazes up at the darkening sky. Christine, unease commando-crawling beneath her skin and ears on high alert, thinks she can hear another question alongside it. Unspoken, but still there.

"Fine." Jeremy's handful of grass flies out his hand. "He's fine, we're fine."

Christine watches a gust of wind catch the grass pieces and carry them out to sea. She looks from Jeremy, staring flint-like at the horizon, to Michael, still watching the sky with a single deep frown line drawing his eyebrows together.

Christine knows that Jeremy's dad hasn't been doing… great, the past year or so. She doesn't have any first hand experience to compare it to, but she guesses your wife walking out on you would do that to someone. That's about the extent of what she _does_ know, because Jeremy won't talk to her about it. To either of them, she thinks, going off of the number of Significant Glances she's shared with Michael over the past however long.

She's not too sure that Jeremy's doing so great, either. 

She tries to catch Michael's eye for a moment, before deciding to just go ahead and back him up, anyway. She pulls her knees up to her chest, rests her head on top, and leans forward to attempt eye contact with her other best friend.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Jeremy snaps, before his mouth snaps shut again. "Ugh, sorry, just-- just, just forget I said anything, okay?"

The silence hangs between them for a long moment. Too long of a moment. Christine wishes she had a script in her hands so she knew what to say next.

It's Michael who breaks the silence, sitting up with a sigh.

"… So!" he says, with convincingly forced cheer in his voice. "Christine, when was the first play rehearsal anyway?"

"Oh, uh." Christine fumbles for a moment. "Tuesday, I think? After school." She thinks she can see what Michael's trying to do here, moving them past the awkwardness, and so she takes the opening and runs with it. "You sure we can't convince you to sign up with us this time?"

"Hard pass," Michael says, flatly, immediately, and predictably.

"You wouldn't even need to have a speaking part!" Christine presses, rising forward up onto her knees now as she gets into this. It'd be pretty killer, she thinks, to share her biggest passion in life with both of her best friends there, but Michael's steadfast and stubborn resistance to setting foot inside the rehearsal space has never wavered. "There's tons of stuff you can do that doesn't need lines--"

"Christine. No _way._ " 

"But--"

"Hey uh, Christine?" Jeremy's voice cuts in out of nowhere, and she meets his eyes, watches him shake his head almost imperceptibly. Michael stares at her from over Jeremy's shoulder, both hands clutching the collar of his hoodie loosely. 

"Oh," she says. "Right."

Oops. Christine sinks back down. For a moment, she'd forgotten that this wasn't supposed to be an actual serious conversation.

"Look, there's a seat in the audience with my name on it, and that's where I'm gonna be." Michael's stare softens into a smile. "I mean, where else am I gonna cheer on the two second coolest people I know?"

Second coolest? Christine throws a puzzled look Jeremy's way, not sure if she should feel offended by that comment or not. Jeremy shrugs at her, and opens his mouth, but Michael gets there first. 

"No arguing!" he says, one arm shooting out with pointer finger raised to underline it. "Just 'cause nobody else got the memo yet doesn't mean it's not true!"

"Wait," Christine says, planting her hands on her hips. "Second coolest? Who did we lose to?"

"Uh, my moms?" Michael arches an eyebrow at her. "C'mon Chris, that goes without saying."

Jeremy laughs softly, shaking his head. "Man, I can't even be offended by that. Your moms are way cool."

It's not an untrue statement. Christine likes Michael's moms, a lot. They ask how she is in a way that doesn't just sound like someone's mom asking how their kid's friend is as polite small talk, and don't seem to mind it when they get a long, rambling monologue with no volume control as an answer. 

So, yeah, she doesn't really mind losing to them.

"Oh hey," Jeremy says suddenly. "There goes the moon." 

Sure enough, when Christine looks back out at the ocean, she can see the moon, not quite full yet, still a pale, ghost-like thing hanging low in the sky in the last light. They watch it in silence for a moment or two, and Christine thinks about asking to call it a night. It's not dark enough for any stars to be out just yet, but it will be soon, and Michael still needs to drive them back. Besides, she's starting to really feel the growing chill in the air through her jacket.

"You ever wonder how you'd even get to those other worlds Michael was talking about earlier, anyways?" 

The question blurts its way out of Jeremy's mouth like it's trying to escape before he can change his mind about it. Christine looks at him in surprise; she didn't realise he was still thinking about that. 

"Ocean's right there," Michael shrugs, rolling with it. "We could swim it. Or build a raft or somethin'."

Jeremy sputters. "I'm serious, Michael!"

"How d'you know I wasn't?" Michael grins. "Man, I dunno. Maybe a spaceship?" He cranes his neck to look back up at the sky. "All the stars up there are supposed to be other worlds, right?"

Christine follows his gaze up. Still no stars yet, but she thinks she gets his point. It's a story they've all heard since they were tiny, after all. 

"I thought they were all supposed to be cut off from each other, though," she says. "I mean, I've never met someone from another world, have you?"

"Yeah, but that's just it!" Michael says, with sudden excitement. When Christine catches his eye, she can see a tell-tale gleam there. "Think about it, if someone really did come here from another world, they wouldn't tell you, right? Like, can you imagine all the different worlds that must be out there and how different they'd be? What if you accidentally brought technology to a world that totally wasn't ready for it yet?"

Jeremy perks up. "Oh, you mean like some kinda Prime Directive?"

"Exactly!"

"That sounds like some kind of huge secret conspiracy," says Christine.

" _Exactly,_ " Michael repeats, in a low, ominous tone. Christine can't help snorting out a laugh, wishing that Michael had had a flashlight or something under his chin to complete the ambiance he was clearly going for there.

"… Would you guys do it, though?" Jeremy looks thoughtfully between the two of them. "Like, say if you did actually find a way to get off this world."

Michael's head tilts to one side. "Where'd this come from?"

"Nowhere!" Jeremy says quickly. Christine thinks almost too quickly, but Jeremy's kinda jumpy at the best of times and she's also not a mind reader. "Just thinking. You're the one who brought it up first." That was kinda defensive, Christine thinks. Jeremy shrugs, and pulls the sleeves of his cardigan back down over his hands. "Seriously, would you, though?"

Christine tucks her hands inside her jacket, and contemplates this line of thought for a moment. "Maybe if it was like a vacation? I bet the theatre out there is out of this _world._ "

The ugliest, most gleeful laugh bursts out of Michael's mouth. "Terrible!" he cackles, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "That was terrible!"

Christine grins and shoots a pair of fingerguns at him. "Thank you, thank you," she says, bowing deeply. "I'll be here all week."

"I'd go if it was like, a roadtrip or something," Michael says once he gets done laughing. He immediately follows it up with a gasp, gazing at them both like he's just received some kind of divine revelation. "Oh my god, that would be the _coolest_ roadtrip ever, like the three of us, on some super interdimensional oddessey? Jeremyyyyy, why did you even bring this up when a world-hopping spaceship is like the last thing any of us are ever gonna end up with?" Michael tips to one side melodramatically, draping himself over the side of Jeremy's shoulder. "How dare you make me want things I can't have."

"Sorry, buddy," Jeremy laughs, nudging Michael with his shoulder until he finally gets the memo and sits back up with a grin. Jeremy glances back out at the rising moon, and then at his watch, and finally whoomphs out a heavy sigh. "C'mon, we should probably get back. I mean, Christine's curfew isn't gonna wait around."

Oh, yeah. Her curfew.

Christine thanks her lucky stars for Jeremy Heere's existence on this world, and decides not to mention that she'd almost forgotten about her own curfew there.

"Yeah, I guess we can't put it off any longer," Michael sighs. He leans across to grab their trash before getting to his feet, shaking his legs out one after the other. "I swear, every week it's like Monday morning eats into the last few hours of my precious Sunday. What is up with that?"

"Yeah, like, who gave it the right?" Jeremy jokes, stretching his arms over his head as he stands. "Talk about not staying in your lane."

"Wait. You mean _that's_ the real reason I suck at time management?" Christine quips. She finally pushes herself back to her feet, and immediately has to do an impromptu jig as prickly hot-and-cold pins and needles wash up and down her feet and legs. She must have sat down on her knees for way too long. She follows the two boys back up to the top of the bank, where they've stopped to wait for her.

"Sometimes it really does feel like they move round on their own, though," Jeremy sighs as the three of them start back in the direction of the car. "Like, tomorrow's the same 24 hours as any other day, but it's gonna _drag._ "

"It might not," Michael pipes up. "Actually, you know what, I am speaking this into existence right now. We're all gonna have a super great Monday, no one is gonna have any of their belongings vandalised, _I_ am gonna ace that chem test--"

Oh, Christine likes this. "I won't get called on in math class--"

"Rich might forget we exist," Jeremy mutters darkly.

"Eugh." Michael pulls a face like he just stepped in something. " _Rich._ "

For a second or two, Christine has to think before she can place the name to the face, but then she remembers. Rich, short, loud-mouthed, and kind of a huge bully. 

"Didn't he just transfer here last semester?" She thinks that's right. He makes way too big of an impression for Christine to have missed him up till now.

Jeremy shrugs, with a face like he swallowed a lemon. "I guess? We never had to put up with him till now."

Christine bites her lip, and puts a hand on Jeremy's shoulder in sympathy. Honestly, she's spent the past three months since Rich showed up trying hard to stay out of his way. All three of them have, with varying levels of success, but for whatever messed-up reason, Rich seems to have singled Jeremy out as his primary target. Christine wishes there was something she could do, but whatever that might be, she can't see it. It's not like she could just go up to Rich in the halls and tell him to leave her friend alone and expect him to listen. 

She knows most of the school thinks she goes around with her head in the clouds, but she's heard the things Rich stage-whispers to people in the one class they share whenever Christine has to leave to take a test in another room. If she tried to take a stand, he would laugh, and he would ignore her, and he would probably go and write another unfunny joke in block-capital sharpie on her best friends' stuff just to spite her.

So instead, she just puts her hand on her friend's shoulder and squeezes and hopes he knows that means she thinks it's so unfair she can't even put words to it, and drags him to do theatre with her while she waits for a better idea to come along, because what else can she do.

"Wasn't that kid that vanished a couple years ago called Rich?" Michael says abruptly.

Jeremy and Christine exchange equally blank glances, and shrug in unison. "What kid?" says Jeremy.

"Don't you remember?" Michael throws the bag of trash into the trunk of his car. "The summer before sophomore year. There were all those missing posters up around town, I think his brother put them up?"

Christine thinks back to that summer. "Wait! I do remember that." There hadn't been that many of those fliers, but the ones that had managed to cling on until the end of summer had been weathered and faded. She remembers that after a couple of weeks, they'd just kind of faded into the usual background of the streets. Something about that makes her gut twist with guilt, now. "Did they ever find him?"

Michael shrugs, shutting the trunk with a loud thud and leaning against it with his arms crossed. "Dunno. Everyone kinda forgot about it, right?" He runs a hand through his hair, his face twisting a little. "I mean, so did I, up till about a minute ago."

"That's… sad," Jeremy says, his voice soft. Then he breathes in sharply, and says in a totally different tone: "Wait, c'mon, you don't seriously think the guy who decided to waltz right in and start tormenting us is the same Rich, do you?"

"I dunno!" Michael throws his hands up, and heads around to the driver's door. "He could be! It's a weird coincidence, right?"

"It's just a name," says Jeremy, rolling his eyes. "There are like at least a dozen Michaels in our school too, y'know."

"I call shotgun," Christine says quickly, before turning her mind back to the subject at hand. She has to admit, it does sound far-fetched. But… far-fetched is better than thinking about the depressing reality of a kid that went missing and never came back. "Maybe he ran away from home…" she starts slowly, ticking the points off her fingers. "Spent years learning how to survive in a cold and uncaring world, fell in with the wrong crowd, and now he's come back for revenge!"

"Hm, not bad." Michael slides into the driver's seat, and the other two follow suit, clambering into the car. "Except for the revenge part. Who wants to tell him he picked the wrong people to be an asshat to?"

"Dibs not it," Jeremy and Christine chorus together.

"Oh," Christine says as something else occurs to her, "Maybe _he_ made it to another world and came back?"

"Christine," Michael says, starting the engine. "No. That is the nightmare scenario. I literally cannot imagine anyone less deserving of the kickass experience of getting to see what's out there."

"Besides," Jeremy chimes in from the back seat. Christine glances in the rear-view mirror to see him staring out the window. "I mean, if he wanted to leave so bad that he found a way to go off-world, why would he come back here just to pick on the weirdest kids in town? Let's face it, he's probably just a totally unrelated asshole who transferred from the next town over."

There's a beat of silence.

"Yeah, probably," Michael sighs. "I'm gonna stick some music on."

Christine sits back in her seat as the slow beat fills the car, and watches the yellow glow of the streetlamps out the window. When she lets her eyes drift shut, she can still see the round orange shapes passing on the backs of her eyelids, like the hazy shapes of worlds passing them by outside.

~✩~

When Christine opens her eyes, all she can see is pitch black.

For a second she thinks, huh, that's weird. Maybe the power grid went down outside while she was asleep.

Except then she realises that there's no worn-out car seat beneath her anymore. She's falling down, so slowly it's more like she's drifting on some invisible current of air she can't feel, and there's nothing else around her except for a blackness so black that it feels like an actual physical presence. Not quite as thick as molasses, but maybe closer to layers upon layers of dense cotton candy.

She should probably feel panicked right about now, but for whatever reason, she just… doesn't. She's just content to drift slowly down, and see where this weird cotton candy darkness takes her.

Oh, I'm definitely dreaming.

The thought comes idly, sailing across her mind like a bird gliding across a perfectly mirror-still lake. Well in that case, she's just going to relax and see where this dream takes her.

There's a break in the darkness suddenly, a subtle glow underneath her that steadily grows brighter and larger with each passing moment. Christine glances down past her outstretched arms, and sees a perfect circle of bright colours and shapes, reds and greens and golds shining like a beacon. The closer Christine gets to it, the more distinct those colours and shapes become, until she realises - that's her.

Picked out in glowing, rippled panes of what looks like stained glass, she's looking down at an image of herself that's easily forty or fifty feet wide. Her stained glass self is fast asleep, curled up on her side atop a backdrop of a deep red curtain sweeping back to reveal forested mountains and steely-grey city buildings sloping down to a deep blue ocean. And then Christine gets too close to see the fullness of the image anymore, the entire thing warping into large, brightly coloured shapes that only vaguely suggest being part of some kind of coherent whole. Her body slowly rights itself of its own accord, her feet slowly falling back under her so that she touches down, ever so gently and perfectly upright, onto the glass surface below her.

She taps the ball of one foot against the floor experimentally. Yep, definitely glass. When she does a quick pirouette a second later, just because she can, here's a dull kind of singing noise where her feet land. It's like she's tapping the world's largest empty glass bottle against a table.

This is one weird dream, she decides, even by her standards. She skips over to the very edge of the circle, only stopping a few steps away to carefully, slowly sidle up to where it suddenly drops off into inky blackness and peer over.

She can't see anything down there. No more circles of light marking more giant self-illuminating stained glass windows, and no sign of there being any bottom. Just a long, long, long fall, and a big old void of nothingness.

Christine hums to herself, and wonders what her subconscious is trying to tell her. 

"Okay," she says aloud, more to hear the sound of a voice than anything else. "So what now?"

_Can you hear me?_

Clear as a bell, there's a voice. But not a voice; Christine doesn't think she heard it with her ears, and when she tries to look around for it, doing a full 360 degree turn on the spot, she can't place where it could have been coming from. It's more like… she felt something, or someone, speaking, with something more than just her ears.

That doesn't make much sense even to her, but then she remembers that everything's running on dream logic at the minute.

"Hello?" she says, instead.

_Oh good, you_ can _hear me!_ The not-exactly-a-voice sounds… kind. That's the first word that pops into her head. Kind, and also kind of like the voice equivalent of concert bells breaking into the score at just the right moment. _It's okay. Don't be afraid. I'm a friend. I know we don't know each other, but I've got a good feeling about you. Your heart feels strong._

"Thank you?" Well, this is new. Christine doesn't really know how to react. So she turns back toward the centre of the pillar and begins skirting the edges of her stained glass-self's tights, wondering what the mysterious voice is going to say next. 

_I know this must all be pretty confusing. I wish I could explain, but we don't have that much time._

A rumbling travels through the glass beneath her, vibrating against the soles of her boots and right into Christine's bones. She jumps, involuntarily shuddering, and watches as three plinths shake themselves upwards out of the solid surface, somehow without leaving a single hairline crack.

_There's a darkness coming. The sort of darkness that could swallow your entire world. But you have the power to fight it. It's right there inside you._

The three plinths flash like a vintage camera; Christine's eyes sting, and she blinks away tears and afterimages glowing red against the backs of her eyes.

_All you gotta do is choose what form you want it to take._

There's something on top of the plinths now. Christine steps closer for a better look. To her right, floating in its own spotlight, is the long, thin form of a conductor's baton. Directly in front of her, she can see something that looks like an old-fashioned fountain pen, and a long, generous scroll of paper. To her left, she can see her old friends, the masks of comedy and tragedy, stuck together pulling their exaggerated faces like a set of conjoined twins.

_Huuuuuh._ The voice sounds surprised. _Never saw that before. I guess it's different for everyone._

"What's different?"

_Never mind. Go on, take a closer look._

Christine does.

The masks draw her first, spinning slowly in their spot. She lifts a hand to touch them, and as soon as her fingers brush the edges of the smooth enamel surface, the voice echoes again.

_That's the power of the Guardian._ Something in the words feels almost… rote to her. Like a line that someone else has said many times before. She likes to think she's pretty good at spotting that sort of thing. _Kindness to aid friends. A shield to repel all._

Well, rote or not, she doesn't need to think too hard about her answer. She grabs the mask duo with both hands, pulling it away from its plinth and into her arms.

"This one. I choose this one."

_You're not even gonna look at the others?_

Christine shakes her head. "Nope. I don't think I need to. Whatever other powers are out there can't be more important than this one."

She didn't know the words were going to leave her mouth until they already did, but when they do, they feel right.

_You're right,_ the voice says after a pause. _Guess that means I was also right about you. So…_

The masks vanish in a flash of light, leaving her arms empty.

_… sorry, but you're gonna have to give something else up in exchange._

Christine turns back to the other two plinths. She guesses that makes sense, as dream-logic goes. It's very fairytale. 

"Just so long as it isn't my first-born," she jokes, crossing over the stained glass with a _clunk, clunk, clunk_ sounding with each step.

_What?!_

"I'm joking!"

So mysterious, disembodied voices _can_ be weirded out after all. At least, they can inside her dreams, at any rate. Christine makes a mental note and reaches for the old-timey pen.

_Ohhhh-kay…_ The voice sounds uncertain for a moment longer, before slipping back into that echoey, rote-like cadence. _So then… the power of the Warrior. Invincible courage. A sword of terrible destruction._

Christine isn't so sure she likes the sound of that one. It makes her think of battlefields, and fires, and flame wars, and people being driven out of spaces or even worse all because of what someone wrote down. She looks at the pen, poised between her fingers and thumb, completely unassuming. And maybe that's the point, she thinks warily. If it's a sword of terrible destruction, what could a pen do, in the wrong hands? Or in the right ones? For an instant, it feels like time stops, holding on to that pen. Like she's poised in the very eye of a hurricane.

She pushes it back into its spotlight. Maybe the pen is mightier than the sword, but mighty doesn't sound very much like what she wants to live up to be.

That just leaves the baton. She goes to it, lifts it with all the delicacy of a maestro, and waits for the disembodied wisdom to come.

_Last one. The power of the Mystic. Inner strength. A staff of wonder and ruin._

That sounds a little better. Maybe not the ruin part, but the rest of it sounds good. Actors and heroines both need a lot of inner strength.

"I don't need to be a warrior," she says aloud, because saying things aloud seems important somehow. It makes them more real, even inside a weird dream like this, maybe especially inside a weird dream like this. "You can take the pen away if you want it."

_You sure? Once you make up your mind, there's no going back._

She nods. "I'm sure."

No sooner are the words out of her mouth before there's another flash of light, and all that's left behind are three empty plinths, still lit by spotlights that Christine can't figure out the source of.

_Okay. This next part's probably gonna get a little rough._ There's an apologetic note there now. _Sorry about that._

"What do you--"

There's a big, booming sound, low and primal, and the glass beneath her shudders, lurches, and suddenly shifts - and her feet are no longer on it.

Christine has just enough time to take in the sudden burst of bright stained glass directly in front of her face before she's falling again, faster and faster--

\--until she suddenly surfaces, breaking through something like the first gulp of air taken after a little too long under the water. She presses her palms against the strangely warm surface beneath her, pushing herself back to her feet on top of another enormous disc of glass. It's a different picture to the last one, she realises. She can't make out what or who it is, the only clear thing being the repeating motif of eighth notes making up the inner border of the circle, but the colours are different. Vibrant shades of red seem to be the order of the hour here, instead of the green and yellow hues that mostly dominated her own stained glass portrait. 

"Are you still there?" she calls out. 

_Still right here. I'm with you._

A shimmer in the air in front of her, and suddenly, there's a full-length mirror in the very centre of this new platform. The polished surface is as flat and perfect as a freshly cut ice rink, with a delicate, barely-there frame of filigreed latticework.

_You'll discover things about yourself on your journey that you never knew about before. Can you keep going?_

Christine approaches the mirror, watching her reflection do the same thing on the other side. Soon, they're almost nose-to-nose with each other. She tilts her head first to one side, then the other, watching her hair bounce to and fro with the motion.

Then her reflection raises one hand and presses it flat against the glass.

Christine jumps, her hands still hanging by her sides. Her heart feels like it's trying to leap out of her chest, but when she looks back at her reflection, she finds it still gazing at her steadily. It's a look Christine has only ever really seen on her own face when she's been reading lines to herself in the mirror, trying to nail a specific emotion before auditions the next day.

It feels like a challenge.

Things that she never knew about before, huh.

Christine raises her own palm, and presses it flat against her reflection's, against the cool, flat surface of the mirror. 

"I can keep going," she says, watching her reflection's lips move in time with hers once more. She swears she sees her reflection smile before she does - and as soon as the words have left her lips, the glass beneath her hands changes.

It ripples, becoming soft and pliable beneath her hands, giving under the pressure until her arm vanishes painlessly up to the elbow into the mirror. And just like that, the rest of her is drawn in too, through the mirror and out the other side.

The feeling of cold on her skin only lasts for a moment. The mirror is behind her now, her reflection now back to behaving like a perfectly normal reflection when she twists around to see. And beneath her feet, shining brightly - another huge disc, another stained glass image she can't make out. This one glows mostly in shades of blue, with small accents of yellow and red jumping out in places. 

The darkness feels denser here, somehow. More solid. Less like fluffy layers of cotton candy, and more like greedy fingers pressing against a window. When she stares out into the blackness, she can see twin sets of round yellow lights glaring back. Like eyes.

Christine really doesn't want to meet whatever those eyes belong to.

_When the darkness comes, you're gonna have to fight. But the light inside you? That'll drive back any darkness._

Another brilliant flash of light bursts in front of her. Christine throws her arms up to shield her eyes. When the bright glare fades, and she can lower her hands without being blinded, there's something new, floating at eye level in front of her.

_But you won't be able to do it on your own. I can give you something to help… but, only if you want it._

At first she thinks it's a sword. But something's not quite right; the blade, while made of a gleaming, silver-bright metal, is rounded in shape, ending in a set of teeth that protrude outwards from it like a crown. The hilt and the guard are weird too; the guard is a bright golden colour, encircling the blue leather grip in a sort of rounded square. Some kind of chain dangles from the bottom end, the final link attached to something that looks like a lucky emblem, like the one Christine found carved into a tree round the back of the school once.

She takes a few steps closer to the not-a-sword, examining it warily. Now she can really get a good look at it, it looks like some sort of giant key. A sword-key.

"What do you mean?"

_I know how scary this is. Fighting against the darkness isn't easy. If you wanted to turn back now… I would understand. Because once you take the Keyblade, if it chooses you, this is it. No going back. So you have to be sure._

There's a weight in her mysterious guide's words that makes Christine wrap her arms around herself, eyeing the sword-key - the Keyblade - with a renewed suspicion. Outside the safety of her small, stained-glass island of light, the glowing yellow eyes watch her, twitching.

This feels… serious. Like it's more than just a dream. Like she's standing on the edge of something _huge_ , and if she keeps going, everything changes.

Christine finally finds her voice.

"This seems like - a really huge choice. I'm just a high school student who does theatre." That's who Christine Canigula is; the weird theatre kid. Juliet. Blanche Dubois. The leading lady, right up until the curtain falls and she's finished taking her bows and becomes just another face in the crowd. 

But… but because she's the weird theatre kid, she knows where she is right now. This is Tamino being given the magic flute by the Queen of the Night's attendants. So she knows how she should respond, but -

But this is real. Something in her heart tells her that this is all real, and not just her subconscious casting her in the heroine's role. 

"I know this is just a dream. But you said a darkness was coming to swallow my whole world." She glances back up at those glowing eyes, picturing them swarming over all the people and places she knows so well. The thought fills her heart with something like icy cold water, chilling every inch of her. "My home, my friends… if I take that Keyblade thingy, could I do something to keep them safe?"

_I know you could._

The certainty in the words grounds her. 

"I want to help them. I won't turn back now."

She stretches out her hand and grasps the hilt of the Keyblade, pulling it out of its little pocket of anti-gravity. As soon as it's in her hand, it glows brightly under her fingers, with a warmth that starts in the palm of her hand and soon floods her entire body. Then it changes. The shaft widens; the teeth meld together; the handle loses its sharply-defined edges and lines. Christine watches as it remoulds itself, like molten glass in the hands of a master craftsman.

_Whoa._

Christine raises the Keyblade in her hand as the light fades, giving it an experimental swing back and forth to feel its weight. It's a way more decorative weapon now; a line of gleaming red-coloured metal starts at the base of the ivory shaft and winds its way in a spiral upwards until it splays out at the top, the teeth now a singular mass of metal that drapes itself off the end of the Keyblade like a curtain sweeping aside with a flourish. A series of three golden stars line the bottom edge of the curtain like they're dying to fly off. The guard flanking both sides of the grip is still golden, but now it curves away in elegant curls that remind her of a fancy harp, or maybe a lyre. The lucky emblem at the end of the chain is gone too; in its place, the masks of comedy and tragedy swing like a good luck charm of their own.

It's like it's not even the same weapon. It's like it's… hers.

_I believe in you. Now, watch out!_

Before she can even ask "what?", the glass beneath her feet shudders again-- and the twitching, bobbing eyes start advancing towards her.

Christine doesn't know what she's looking at. It's like someone was doing arts and crafts with the darkest dark they could find, cutting out little inky-black shapes with vague approximations of arms and legs and antennae - and now they're all coming towards _her_ , sticking out like a sore thumb against her stained-glass sanctuary.

The mirror she came through is gone like it was never there. Christine grips the Keyblade - _her_ Keyblade - tightly in her hand, watching the shadow-creatures creep closer and closer with a dread that turns her legs to stone.

_You can take them. Use the Keyblade!_

The voice jolts her back to herself. Christine breathes in, and out. She can feel her legs again now, shaking from the knees down like they do when she has to give her first big soliloquy on opening night. 

But just like her first big soliloquy on opening night, she knows what she has to do.

"I can do this," she breathes, and raises her Keyblade like a bat.

She can't even keep track of what happens as she fights. The world in front of her narrows to black shapes and glowing yellow eyes. Dodging out the way of the ones that get too close, swinging her Keyblade at the ones that get just close enough. There's a jolt up her arms every time her hits connect, a short, sharp sound like air being sucked out into space. If she hits them enough, the shapes dissolve into black smoke that wisps away into the dark.

"I--" breathing in, swinging for the last one-- "can--" catching it with the stars on her Keyblade, feeling the swing thud up to her shoulders-- "do this!"

The last wisp of darkness vanishes. Christine heaves breaths in and out, the air rushing harshly through her lungs. Her fingers feel stiff from where she's been gripping her Keyblade so tightly.

Booyah. Take that, darkness.

_See? I knew you could take 'em._

Christine straightens up. In spite of herself, she can feel a grin spreading her way across her face.

_You'll wake up soon. When you do, this will all feel like one big dream. But before you do, I want you to remember something. Even if we never meet again out in the Realm of Light, our hearts will always be connected._

Christine's smile falters. She doesn't even know who the voice that's been guiding her belongs to, but the words feel true. Like there's an invisible string that she can feel, tied around her heart, stretching away into somewhere she can't reach. And this sounds way too much like a final goodbye.

"Don't say that. I could find you out there somewhere. What's your name?"

As if on cue, the platform under her shakes again, rumbling on and on and on, longer than any of the tremors before. Christine wobbles, stumbling backwards as she tries not to lose her footing.

_Oh no. Sorry, we're out of time._

Inky blackness oozes out of the glass in front of her, covering the shaking platform in a widening pool of liquid darkness. Christine jumps back, edging closer and closer to the edge of the circle on unsteady legs as the darkness grows. Not just wider, but taller too. Slowly, a shadow rises up out of the dark, towering so high above Christine that she has to lean back to see it properly. Its chest is hollow - she feels her stomach flip at the sight of it. The gaping void is perfectly shaped, with neat, precise edges. Like someone took a giant heart-shaped cookie-cutter to it.

Christine readies her Keyblade again, but it's not just her legs shaking this time. She can feel the Keyblade shaking too, in her tired hands. 

_Don't be afraid._ The voice is fainter now, muffled and far-off. _There's a light at the bottom of every darkness, no matter how deep it is._

The shadow swipes at her with one gargantuan hand. Christine throws herself sideways, landing hard and rolling across the glass. Get up. She has to get up. Her legs protest, but she digs her Keyblade into the surface beneath her and pushes herself up and onto her feet. Her boots feel like leaden weights at the bottom of her legs.

She breathes in, and lunges forward with her Keyblade in hand - and _sinks._

Christine looks down. Below the knee, her legs vanish. She can't feel them. That big pool of darkness has opened up again right beneath her, and all she can do is struggle to pull herself free as she's dragged down, her waist vanishing into cold, numb nothingness.

_Don't be afraid._ So faint she can hardly hear it. Her heart beats hard and fast against her ribs. Water fills her mouth and nose. _Look for the light._

She's falling again. Down, down into the dark. Yellow eyes like pinpoints watch her fall from high above.

_Don't forget._

Christine goes limp. Where did her Keyblade go?

An icy wave crashes over her mind. Just before everything scatters, she hears it, feather-light but sure:

_Your heart is the strongest weapon of all._

**Author's Note:**

> first of all if you made it this far and read all that: thank you, as I am literally incapable of not being wordy and everything I write turns into a TL;DR monster
> 
> second of all: welcome to my first attempt at writing longform, multichapter fic in literally a decade! I've loved Kingdom Hearts since I was like, 14 years old, and so naturally my crusty millenial self wanted to write an AU of the series that defined my teenage years featuring the kids from a musical that reminds me a lot of my teenaged self, haha. I'm afraid I can't promise any kind of regular or frequent update schedule, but I know pretty much the entire plot of this fic in my head already and I am determined to try and finish it! so I hope y'all will join me on this wild ride
> 
> for those who know KH *and* BMC: yes, this fic is indeed canon compliant with and takes place after the events of KH3. yes, I know. you don't need have played any of the KH games to enjoy this fic, but you may find some easter eggs hidden away for you to find if you have, including in this very set-up chapter!
> 
> next time: Rich is here to ruin everything. Michael feels ill. Christine finds her dream might not have just been a dream after all.


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